


comfort

by drmsqnc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cole really does bring compassion doesn't he?, Colemance, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drmsqnc/pseuds/drmsqnc
Summary: he always knows





	comfort

As the light slowly ebbed away from the horizon, so did warmth.

Night seeps into your clothes, draws the heat from your skin. You shiver and curl your fingers tight into your palms, bringing them to your lips. An exhale leaves you: hot and damp. It doesn’t linger, reprieves for only a brief second before it is snatched away into the frigid air.

Twilight slowly drags the sky’s curtains shut, and with it’s departure it seems to suck the life of all below. The vibrant reds and yellows of the sunset are nowhere to be found, monochrome shades blanketing the earth; as if the soil itself is shutting off the lights in time for it’s due rest. Weariness pools on your eyelids, pushing you to bury your face into your knees.  _Maybe we are far more connected to nature than we imagined_ , you muse as you dig your toes into the dirt. The thought is new, and just as strange, but how else can you explain the way your very soul is being drained of colour as well?

Memory flickers, sudden and intense. Blood. Red  _red_  red, crusted underneath your nails, wet and soaking through your shirt. You can still see it, taste the metal in the air. Another shiver racks your form, though this time the cold is not to blame. You wrap your arms around yourself, pressing your eyes close until the strain blurs scattered hues on the black underneath your lids.

The atmosphere shifts. One moment you are alone, the next, you are simply not.

A hand slowly rests on top your head. The pressure is faint, almost non-existent. If not for the way it slightly unsettles your hair, you would think it not there at all.

You don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. You already know who is there.

Silence remains. You purse your lips, unwilling to make the first move. It barely matters. He is eternally patient, tranquil, presence whispering even in the quiet. Words stir uncomfortably in your chest, bubble up your throat until they are frothing over onto your tongue. You give in, unable to keep them prisoner any longer.

“Why are you here?” You ask.

“You called me,” Cole speaks. “I will help.” His voice is as soft as his aura, the smooth huskiness to it washing over you. How long had it been since he’d spoken last?

“I didn’t call you,” you argue, sound muffled into your knees.

“You did,” he responds, even-tempered, not reacting to your rise in tone.

 _And?_ There’s something invisible left at the end of his statement. You can see it unraveling like thread, trailing off into the distance. You want to ask, but stubbornness coils like a snake in your stomach, keeping your curiousity hostage to your pride.

The hand in your hair soothes a thumb down your scalp, and you can practically  _hear_  his smile.

“How did you know I was here?” You sigh. He would have plucked the thought out of your head anyway.

The caressing motion doesn’t stop. “The horses told me.”

Wind rustles through the trees above.

Your head raises. His hand is already gone, preparing for your action before you even knew to perform it. When your eyes finally meet, his are wide and bright. They pierce into yours, a mix of blue and muted grey, steady and unwavering. His hair is almost white in the moonlight.

Your mouth goes dry.

“The horses told you,” is all you can say in the end.

“Yes,” he nods, the action oddly stilted. “Whispered nudges, footprints in the grass. They were very helpful.”

You can’t even deny it, seeing as you had visited the stables before venturing off into the night. They very well could have.

“And even if they had not,” Cole continues without losing a beat. “I would have found you. Your song is loud.”

“…My song?”

“Your song,” he affirms. His hand brushes past your cheek, pausing at the tears there. He momentarily wipes the moisture, thumb pressing at the corner of your bottom lip before going down, down. He touches a pointer finger to your chest. “Hurt. Hurting. Boiling hot and angry, refusing to be caged. But at the same, melancholic. Somber and cold, numbing over spiked edges.” He frowns. “You are so  _sad_.”

You stare.

Then, quietly, “A man died for me today.”

Cole blinks.

“I know.” He tilts his head. “I was there.”

You look down at your fists, at the blood you can still see staining your fingertips, the blood that has long since been washed away. All at once you are no longer in the placid forest, but kneeling on harsh gravel. Yells echo from all around, the sound of swords clashing and monstrous shrieks overwhelming your senses. You aren’t breathing, hands shaking at the sight in front of you.

The soldier who had taken the arrow that would have snuffed out your life lay at your feet, unmoving.

You pull him onto his back, crimson filling your vision as you stare at his chest. The gash is torn, fleshy, clotting around the head of the arrow still firmly lodged in his bosom. You frantically try to stop the flow, watch the liquid seep straight through the spaces between your fingers.

You don’t know how long you’d been there, but soon enough you feel yourself being literally lifted off your feet by strong arms. Bull’s voice is shouting something in your ear, but you’re not sure what. You’re numb to everything else but the corpse on the ground, the pounding in your skull. It takes you a while before you realize that you’re the one screaming.

Cole interrupts your living nightmare, bringing you back to reality when his fingers touch your ear. You jerk as you notice that he’s seated right next to you, leaning forward. When did he get so close? He sits back on his haunches, smiling in approval at whatever he had done. His thighs brush yours, personal space now nonexistent.

You reach upwards tentatively. A silky texture meets you, curling around your ear. “Is that a flower?”

“Hibiscus,” Cole looks into the distance, unfocused, before he blinks and returns his gaze to you. “He wanted to.”

“What?” your voice scrapes. You hope to all heaven he isn’t talking abou-

“The soldier,” Cole says, oblivious. “Exhausted, weary. New. Not hardened yet. Thoughts sprouting to the sky. Why? How long till peace? Head throbbing, sight cloudy, sword too heavy for damaged hands. Then suddenly an archer, and no time at all to warn. A last goal, more important than anything he has ever done in his life. Must protect the Inquisitor, must protect  _peace_. Sight black, world fading, but serene, no regret. A job well done.”

It feels as though your throat has been stitched together. “Cole. That is not-” Your voice breaks, hand dropping from the flower to fist into your lap. “That is not something I want to hear.”

“No,” Cole agrees. He sounds remorseful and confused simultaneously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it right. I’m not helping.” Frustration tugs his lips down.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” Your nails dig into the skin of your palms.

It isn’t as if you haven’t seen death before, quite the contrary as you are sometimes the one bringing it, but this is the first you had seen someone personally choose to-

A sob strangles through your restrains. If you can’t handle this, how are you to lead? There are people out there counting on you, and here you are, breaking down in the forest like a child. Perhaps this is a sign. Perhaps you aren’t ready for this, will _never_ be ready for this. Perhaps….perhaps it would have been better if that soldier had just let yo-

“No.”

The command is firm and all but growled. Cole’s large hat slips over his eyes, blocking you from his expression. Embarrassment flickers within you for a split second, before indignation pushes it aside.

“I-”

“ _No_.” He does growl this time, zipping electricity down your spine to wriggle something warm and confusing in your abdomen. “Insecurity spirals. It feeds on the shadows, twists black and ugly and smothers out the light. But I  _won’t let it._ ”

Cole exhales shakily, and all the fight leaves him as soon as it came. But the decision is still there, still firm.

“I would not like it if you died,” He says quietly.

You swallow, try to speak, but your tongue has become a weight settled at the bottom of your mouth. Cole only shuffles closer, tugs you into his lap. He knows. He always knows.

The dam breaks.

You cry.

You sink into him, clutching at anything you can find, and you cry. He tucks you close, humming lowly. It’s a tune you have never heard before, and yet you feel as though you have carried it with you all your life. It resonates in your bones, fills you sickly sweet with something that can only be called  _home_.

“Your song,” Cole says.

You cry all over again.


End file.
